


Broken

by JoeyMalfoy



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Grief/Mourning, I'm still crying you guys, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Post-Season/Series 03, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Steve's Sad, i'M SAD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 18:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19728943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoeyMalfoy/pseuds/JoeyMalfoy
Summary: Steve can’t stop thinking about Billy’s face.





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

> ***SPOILERS DO NOT READY ANY FURTHER IF YOU HAVEN’T WATCHED SEASON 3***
> 
> Ok so I literally cannot stop crying. I couldn’t binge-watch season 3 because of “life” reasons, so I finished it yesterday morning. I then proceeded to lock myself in the bathroom and sob for an hour. I spent the rest of my day feeling horrible while basking in the sun, and I broke down again during the evening and took a very very long shower just to… sit in the bathtub and cry.
> 
> So, I keep telling myself, you know “this is just a TV show, these are just characters, THEY ARE NOT REAL”, but somehow that doesn’t help. After reading Harringrove fanfiction for a year and a half and totally obsessing with all things Billy, Steve and Stranger Things, they feel very real to me. Also, my dad passed away last December and I was there when it happened, and his dying face has haunted me since. I think Billy’s death might have broken something loose in me. And when I feel like this, I need to write. Badly. So, this morning, instead of working (‘cause I’m an adult and I SHOULD be working), well I’m writing fanfiction to try and unbreak my heart. 
> 
> Warning: this is not a fix-it. It’s sad. Billy’s dead, Steve’s grieving, and I’m still crying. You’ve been warned. 
> 
> Oh, and English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake.

Steve can’t stop thinking about Billy’s face. 

He’d gone down the stairs, after everything. After the fireworks had stopped blinding him, after the silence had been restored, after the monster had finally, _finally_ , fallen. He’d gone down the stairs with the others. He’d seen blood and goo and fire and shattered windows everywhere. He’d seen what was left of the monster and thought about how big it was, how much bigger than he’d originally thought. How many people had been _in there_? 

And then he’d seen Max, little Max with her braided hair and bruised face, little Max who looked so _fucking_ young, sobbing in El’s arms, and that’s when he’d known. 

He’d known before actually seeing Billy there, lying on the floor with one of his legs at a weird angle, his face and his chest and his _everything_ covered in red blood and black goo. It felt like falling in the elevator all over again, falling abruptly and fast and with no idea of when it was going to stop, _if it was going to stop_. The air had left his lungs and he was going down, down, down, while everything else seems to be going up, up, up. 

He had kneeled next to Billy. He had looked at his face.

Steve had remembered his mom telling him “He looks just like he’s sleeping, doesn’t he?” at his uncle’s funeral. Steve had been terrified of going up there, seeing the coffin, seeing someone, _his uncle_ , lying in there. But his mom had coaxed him, had held his hand, had made him go and see. “It’s OK, honey, he looks just like he’s sleeping, doesn’t he?”

Billy hadn’t look like he was sleeping. His skin was so pale, _so very pale_ , it looked grey, almost green. His mouth was covered in a black layer so thick his lips had completely disappeared. His right eye was closed, but not his left. It was half-opened, like someone had lifted his eyelid to check, but the skin had stuck halfway there and no one had bothered closing it again. Steve had caught a glimpse of blue there, but it was a cold blue, a grey blue, a dead blue. It had nothing to do with the blue it had been just a few weeks ago, when Steve had met Billy at the quarry one last time, when Billy had said, voice cruel and eyes all big like a summer sky “What did you think? That this would go on forever? That we’d get married and live happily ever after? Get fucking real, Harrington.”

“It’s OK”, El kept repeating. “It’s OK.”

How could it ever be OK again?

\--

Steve can’t stop thinking about Billy’s face. It’s in his dreams every night: the thunder of the fireworks, Max’s cries, Billy’s broken face. It’s behind his eyelids every time he closes his eyes. It’s in the back of his mind when he talks to other people. It’s all he can see when he tries to watch a movie. When he goes for a walk. When he looks in the mirror. 

Every time he gets behind the wheel, he hears the impact again, the screeching of metal on metal, the hissing of the tires. He had rammed into Billy’s Camaro and _left him there_. He had left Billy, half-conscious, _half-dead_ , in a car on fire. He had driven away as fast as he had come, glancing back, just once, and catching a glimpse of Billy’s curly hair against the door. And he’d left. 

What else was he supposed to do? That’s what he keeps repeating to himself, over and over and over again, every time he gets into his car. Billy had almost killed Nancy, he would have killed her if Steve hadn’t arrived just in time, he would have killed Nancy and hurt the kids, and then he probably would have fed all of them to the monster. What was Steve supposed to do? Go to Billy and get killed? Bring him in the car with them and get them all killed? It was not Billy. It was the monster. Billy was already gone, by then. Good as dead. 

But that’s not true and Steve knows it. Billy was still in there, somewhere. El had got through to him. He’d sacrificed himself to save her. To save all of them. 

\--

“What did you see?” Steve asks.

There are only a few days left before the Byers leave for good. They were all at their place all day, helping pack, and now having dinner together one last time. El has gone outside, on the porch, maybe to get away from all the noise. That’s what Steve is doing, anyway. 

“What?” she asks. 

Steve sits down next to her on the first step.

“When you went looking for Billy. In his mind. You saw… you saw a beach, right? California? What else did you see?”

Steve has no idea what he’s expecting or hoping for. He is just… He just wants… He just needs… 

Steve doesn’t realize his eyes are burning before El takes his hand in hers. 

“Hurt. Pain.”

Steve closes his eyes. Feels the tears running down his cheeks.

“Happiness, too”, El continues. “His mom, she was… pretty.”

“His mom?”

Billy had told Steve about his mom, once. They’d been sharing a joint on the hood of the Camaro, looking down at the Quarry. Steve didn’t remember what they’d been talking about, but Billy had said his mom liked to dance. She would take his hands and swirl him around when he was just a kid. She would do that out of the blue, at the mall, at the beach, out on the street. If there was no music, she’d just sing. Steve had asked if his mom was still in California, and Billy had shut down then. Had taken the last drag of the join, thrown it on the ground and said it was late, time to go. 

“Yes, his mom”, El continues. “He has happy with her.”

 _Was he happy with me_? Steve wants to ask. 

“His dad was bad. Like Papa.”

Billy had come to Steve’s house with a black eye and bruised ribs, one night. Steve had asked, and Billy hadn’t wanted to say, but Steve had known. He’d known in the way Billy’s hands were shaking. In the way his lip bottom lip was twitching. In the way his eyes kept looking without seeing. In the way his eyelashes, long and pretty and wet, kept fighting back tears. 

“But he’s OK now”, El says, squeezing Steve’s hand. “Billy. He’s OK, now.”

 _But I’m not_ , Steve wants to scream. 

\--

Sometimes Steve thinks his sheets still smell like Billy. Which is ridiculous, because he’s washed his sheets numerous times since the last time Billy was in them, and Billy almost never came over anyway, they usually met up at the Quarry or at school or at some deserted parking lot somewhere, and Billy had made it clear the last time they met he wouldn’t be coming over anymore at all, and Billy has been dead for three fucking months so why can’t Steve just stop burying his face in his pillows until he can’t breathe anymore just to catch a sad whiff of some ghost’s cheap cologne?

\--

He’d almost convinced himself he didn’t care about Billy for a while, there. After Billy had told him to _get fucking real, Harrington_. After he’d stopped coming to Scoops Ahoy all batting eyelashes and sexual innuendos. There were lots of girls coming for ice cream, and he was still Steve Harrington. He didn’t need Billy fucking Hargrove. He’d never needed him.

He’d almost convinced himself he was attracted to Robin, too. Dustin kept saying how awesome she was. She was pretty cute. She was smart. And she had that fire in her, the kind of fire that made her determined and brave, not at all the same kind of fire that Billy had. Billy… Billy, he burnt everything. There was never nothing left in his wake. 

So, he could be with a girl like Robin and forget everything about Billy. He really thought he could. He should. 

And then she’d told him _she liked girls_. Steve had wanted to laugh so hard it almost hurt to keep it inside. He couldn’t be with her because _she liked girls_ , and _he liked boys_ , or at least he liked _a boy_ , and he had been stupid to think he could just forget all about him. 

Looking back, Steve wonders if he had made a decision, right then and there in that restroom. He’d thought about talking to Billy. About telling him how he felt, about spilling his guts and risking being mocked or ridiculed or even punched. He still isn’t sure if he had made the decision or just thought about making it. 

But then it didn’t matter anymore because Billy was dead. 

\--

The thing is, Billy had been so alive. He’d taken up so much space. He’d been everywhere, always loud and angry and _burning_. Him being gone, it's like the world has turned cold.

\--

“You know, Billy Hargrove?” Steve asks. 

“The asshole who beat you half to death but then sort of saved the world? Yeah, I’m familiar”, Robin says. 

Her eyes are still glued to the TV. She’s sitting on the edge of her seat, her mouth full of popcorn.

“I was in love with him.”

Popcorn flies out of Robin’s mouth and onto Steve’s mom’s favorite carpet. She coughs, brings her hand to her mouth and looks at Steve with big, round eyes. 

“What?”

“I’ve never told anyone”, Steve continues. “I didn’t even…”

 _I never got a chance to tell him._

Tears are burning his eyes, again. He feels like he’s been crying non-stop for three months straight. He kind of has. 

And then he tells Robin. He tells her everything. He tells her about their first kiss in the school parking lot after practice. He tells her about that first time in Billy’s car. He tells her about the joints at the quarry, the cigarettes under the bleachers, the long drives late at night when neither of them could sleep. He tells her about Billy’s dad and Billy’s anger, Billy’s blue eyes and Billy’s strong hands. He tells her about Billy’s laugh, his real laugh, and the way his eyes always softened late at night when they were alone in Steve’s bed. He even tells her about their last meeting at the quarry, about the _Get fucking real, Harrington_.

“And now the sun still rises and the sun still sets and the birds still sing and when there’s wind you can still hear it in the trees and everything’s the same except it’s fucking not. Except I can’t fucking breathe half the time and all I can see when I close my eyes is his face, his beautiful fucking face all broken and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.”

Steve is sobbing now. He’s been crying and sobbing for a while now, he doesn’t know for how long, he’s lost track of time. He doesn’t even know if she got half of what he said because he doesn’t know exactly what he said anymore and his voice was breaking the whole time and there’s tears and snot all over his face. Somehow the TV is turned off now and Robin has come closer and she has an arm around his shoulders and he’s crying against her neck. She smells nice and flowery and girly and nothing like Billy. 

“It’s OK”, she says. “It’s OK.”

“It’s not OK”, he sobbed. “It’s not. I loved him and I let him die.” 

\--

Billy has been gone for four months and twelve days when Steve visits his grave for the first time.

Robin had wanted to go with him. He’d refused. Said he needed to do this alone.

He thinks about bringing flowers, and then he thinks better. 

He sits down on the ground. It’s wet, and muddy, and he doesn’t care. He sits down and looks at the grave. 

_William James Hargrove  
1967 – 1985_

His vision is all blurry and he feels cold and why is the sun shining shouldn’t it be raining right now? 

“Billy, I… I miss you.”

Steve’s voice breaks and he closes his eyes. 

And, for the first time in months, what he sees behind his closed lids is Billy’s blue eyes, Billy’s smile, Billy’s face. 

Unbroken.

**Author's Note:**

> I do have some ideas on how to continue this and turn it into a fix-it. Like bringing Billy back and all. I’m not sure I will write it, but this morning I really, really needed to get this all out. It helped a little. I hope it helped you too. xo


End file.
